


Where the Roads Lead

by likebunnies



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/M, I Will Go Down With This Ship, It's All AU Now, Post-Season/Series 02, Smut, finishing something I started
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-20 19:51:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14900894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likebunnies/pseuds/likebunnies
Summary: After killing his wife, Ichabod Crane leaves Sleepy Hollow and goes on the road searching for something. But the death of his family isn't the only reason he fled.





	Where the Roads Lead

**Author's Note:**

> I started this a very long time ago and never finished it. Now I have. It's part of my 'just finish it and post it because it's there' collection of weird things that probably should have never been written in the first place. 
> 
> It all takes place after Tempus Fugit. Crane still leaves but doesn't get on a plane to Scotland immediately. Abbie still goes to the FBI and meets Danny for a while (not described in this story). Crane meets a few other people. Women. They don't mean anything in the long run. I promise.

_My Dearest Abigail,_

_By the time you find this, I will have departed from Sleepy Hollow. After the events of the past few weeks and even last night, I must leave for several reasons. I am not sure I understand them fully as of yet and thus cannot explain them to you at present. Maybe in time that will change. Please know that I treasured our time together as partners and friends. I will not do anything further that might put you in harm's way. I have lost too much already to lose you, too._

_Yours,_

_Ichabod Crane_

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

His first night away from Sleepy Hollow, Crane slept under the stars, buried under whatever blankets he had taken from the cabin. He had been colder than this in his life and he would survive. He wasn't sure he wanted to survive, though. If he could just die, he would. Unfortunately, it wasn't that easy. At least not for him. He would be forced by whatever kept his heart beating to make it through to dawn. The world wasn't going to stop for him and his misery. 

Away from the city, with only a few winter birds as company, he named all the constellations he could see and resisted taking his phone out of his pocket and calling Abbie and begging for forgiveness. Whenever he got the urge to call, he would name all the constellations again and tell the stories behind them to whatever birds might be listening. 

He needed gainful employment. Something to take his mind off what was once his family, as poorly as it all turned out, and what he had done to Abbie. How he had just left her there in her bed without so much as a kiss goodbye. 

He blinked away the tears and looked back at the sky. Ursa Major. Ursa Minor. Cassiopeia...

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Crane had never seen so much shit in his lifetime. He should have known that a job offering a small wage plus free room and board in exchange for manual labor at a horse stable couldn't be simple but this was an outstanding amount of manure and it all needed to be moved. This was surely his punishment and he knew that the punishment fit the crime. 

He was familiar enough with horses, having been riding most of his (other) life, and learning the ins and outs of western tack took no time at all. At least it was more comfortable on ones backside than what he was used to. 

But then there was all this shit. 

He had taken one or two odd jobs along his travels over the last few weeks, always looking to exchange whatever work he could do for a room. Unfortunately, most of his skills meant nothing in the modern era so here he was with a pitchfork looking like the devil himself. If the devil also wore beat-up green wellies, borrowed coveralls and drove a second-hand motorbike. 

This is what he deserved. This would make him a better man. This would teach him a lesson. 

Each of those thoughts went through his head as he mucked out another stall. With each scoop of bedding and horse shit that hit the bottom of the old metal wheelbarrow, he could hear those words echoing through his brain. 

Crane had killed his wife. He allowed for the death of his son. And in a moment of thoughtless want and desire fueled by a lot of whiskey, he had found himself in his partner's bed only a short time after his wife's death and then left her with just a note before running away. Abbie was the only one he could save now so he ran away, hoping she could repair her life and live it the way she deserved. Without him and this thing between them. 

Yes, it was a atrocious thing to do. He had to let her go before she was also dead. He was a selfish bastard for all of it. He said he'd never leave her, that they were destined to die together if they were to die at all. 

And now he was standing in muck while Honey Bee watched on from the next stall. 

“You don't understand,” Crane said to the horse who let out a soft nicker in response. “You think you understand but it's far too complicated. I have experience with your kind now, you know. Or at least two of your brethren. Do you know them? The horses for the riders Death and War? I see you do not.”

Now Taffy whinnied from the stall across the way. 

“Oh, you're familiar with them? I shall be wary of you, then,” he said, finishing up the stall he was in. Taffy flipped her tail around but otherwise offered no other opinion on the matter. 

He pushed the wheelbarrow out of the stable and to the large pile where it was to be dumped. The stables had a new owner and they were still trying to clean up the mess the last owners left behind. With so few horses boarded here at the moment, the animal care was easy. The clean-up was going to be hell. 

Crane found that part represented his life well at the moment. What's worse was he made it even messier before he left. If only...

Too late now. If only and what if only went so far. 

He returned to the barn to start on another stall. Cloud Dancer whinnied at him as he walked by and he stared at the white horse. “You're probably a relative –”

“Do they ever talk back?” 

Crane turned to find Hannah, the oldest daughter of the stable owner, watching him. She was home on a break from university, where she was studying to be a veterinarian, and often showed up in the stables when it was close to time to turn the horses out for the night. 

“Not yet. I will let you know when that day arrives for it's surely a sign of something... alarming,” he said, nodding his head politely at her and going on his way. She followed him and leaned against the wooden wall in the stall he was cleaning next. People came in and out of the stables all day and none of them talked to him beyond common courtesies. None except pretty brown-haired, green-eyed Hannah, always discussing the weather or school or something equally as banal and following him around. She was so young and lovely but he already had enough demons to exorcise without needing one more. 

“What are you running away from?” she asked as he went to work. That was certainly a change from her usual topics. 

“Who says I'm running away from anything?” he replied, and she laughed. 

“No one would do this crappy job unless they were running away from something. Or someone. Not by choice, anyway. I have no choice but you do,” she said. She pushed away from the wall, took the pitchfork from his hand and started cleaning. He grabbed another pitchfork and continued to do his job alongside of her. 

“My wife and my son died,” he said quietly. “I thought it would help clear my head if I traveled.”

“Was it your fault?”

“In a way.”

She gave him a solemn nod and didn't ask anything more which was good because she didn't need to know anything else. Nothing about an apocalypse that may or may not have been stopped. Or how he had murdered his wife to save his partner who had been right all along. That partner he didn't deserve. 

“Where are planning on going next? That is, if you ever get this mess cleaned up.” 

“I don't know,” he answered honestly. 

“Ever think about going home?” she asked. He stopped shoveling and looked at her. “Oh, not the home you're currently running from. I meant England.” 

“I don't know how I could ever afford that,” he said. What would he do in a place he hadn't seen in hundreds of years. She certainly didn't need to know about his actual age. He had already cut his hair before he showed up here because he was finding it hard to get a job the other way. And for a job that involved standing in manure, he certainly didn't show up wearing his irreplaceable clothing. He made a quick stop at a Walmart and bought a pair of cheap Wrangler jeans, which were only slightly better than those expensive skinny jeans. At least he could sit down without his balls screaming. 

The two of them cleaned in silence for a long while, and she wheeled this load of crap and old bedding out to the pile while he considered which floors would have to be washed down the next day. It was boring work. Back-breaking work. But it reminded him of a world he lost. The smells. The mud that came after every rain. The importance of animals and the land. 

And it was quiet out here, away from the city and all it's screeching and buzzing that never stopped. 

Ever since he'd been in the 21st century, it had been nothing but constant noise. The televisions, the electric lights, the passing cars. Printers and keyboards and even in the cabin, there was the refrigerator motor running. Phones were always ringing or signaling that someone had received a text message. He had forgotten how much he missed the silence. 

At that precise moment, Hannah started humming some unrecognizable tune. Her generation couldn't stand the silence for more than a minute, Crane thought to himself. 

“I'm going to go check on Twister,” Hannah said, referring to a mare who had started favoring one front leg over another. “I'll see you later, Ichabod.”

“Yes, Miss Mitchell, have a pleasant evening,” he said, stopping himself as he nearly bowed to the young lady. 

“You are one strange dude,” she said before shoving those things in her ears so she could fill her world with more noise. 

At least now he could go back to his punishment in peace. 

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Crane soon learned that Hannah was a very accomplished horsewoman... among other things. From her, he learned about such things as modern day birth control and safe sex and that a roll in the hay was still a roll in the hay. He did it to forget. She wasn't Katrina. She wasn't Abbie. She just was. For a few blessed minutes, he could escape. She didn't seem to care as long as she got something out of it, too. She gave him a sweet kiss on the cheek before she climbed in her truck and returned to her life at college. 

Hannah was also very skilled at what she called 'playing the ponies' and her selections managed to triple (or more) any money Crane could provide. In the end it was enough to get him to England where he spent a few days exploring modern London and then to Paddington Station and a train to Oxford. He didn't know what he was looking for. An escape from the shit? A connection to his distant past? A further escape from the people he left behind, living and dead?

He found a job on his second day in town as a walking tour guide. He amused the owner of this particular tour company with his unusual clothing (although Crane thought it best to give up his favorite patriot blue coat in favor of his neutral brown one) and his ability to tell the history of most everything – except perhaps how long the Domino's Pizza had been there. He had to study up on such things as 'Inklings' and 'Snarks,' which had a completely different definition from when Abbie had once told him to control his snark. 

But set him loose with a few tourists near the Bodleian and he was in his element. In between telling tales of how it used to be and then trying to appear amused as each member of his tour group took a selfie with him – this seemed to be a thing that only he endured as none of the other guides mentioned it – he managed to fill his days. 

He thought about calling Abbie to let her know he was out of the country but he had let too much time pass already and he couldn't imagine what he would say that sounded reasonable. He thought of texting Jenny to let her know that the newer, fake passport she had managed to procure for him worked without anyone questioning it. He knew that if Abbie had told her sister what had happened, and he was certain she would have, then Jenny wouldn't want to deal with him, either. 

Instead, he spent his time trying to make enough money to pay for his tiny shared flat, drinking with the local students, and searching to see if he had missed some clue from his past that would have indicated his future role in stopping the apocalypse. So far, he had found nothing. Nothing but the bottom of a fair number of pint glasses and the beds of a few university women. 

It took him a few weeks to face visiting his former college. He would stand outside of the wrought iron gates, staring in, but still not ready to enter. So many memories of his father hovered over this place like a storm cloud. So many memories of how he had failed to make his father happy. If the man thought he was a failure then, he should see him now.

Much had changed but somethings always remained the same. The recycling bins were new. Students rushing about were not. Ichabod Crane trying to escape something also was not new. Last time he ran away, it was from this place. Now he had run back here. 

He found his father's name on the plaque in the Merton College Chapel listing the wardens of the college. He ran his fingertips over the name of this man that had haunted his life and thought how odd this was. This man was lost to time and yet, his second son still walked the earth. Somehow that would be a disappointment to his father, too. Couldn't even die right. 

Crane already knew that somewhere on the floor, there was marble slab marking his father's grave. He had already done that much research and just had to find it in the north part of the chapel. It was so like his father to be buried in this place of such importance to him instead of at his ancestral home in Scotland. At least he knew where his heart truly belonged... where his home was. Ichabod couldn't bring himself to say the same. 

When he finally found the location, he sat down beside the marker and stared at it. The man's name. Date of birth. Death. He outlived his son by one year. Well, sort of. He probably never even knew what had become of him. There were many words telling all about Thomas Crane and his relationship with the college. A thistle was carved beneath that – the symbol of Scotland for the man who didn't even want to be buried there? Next to that, a symbol for both death and immortality – a skull and ivy. And a rooster. That was odd. The grave symbol for awakening. For resurrection. Under it all, carved into the stone was '18 August 1749.' 

Crane sat up straight and took a breath, looking at it again. He was the only child born that day in the family. Ichabod Crane didn't share his birth date with any other relatives that he knew of. Back when he was a child, birthdays weren't even a thing like they are now. Abbie certainly always remembered his for some reason. 

He ran his fingers over the numbers, tracing the symbol for eternity that an eight made. How could his father have known anything? Did someone else put this here, hoping he'd eventually find it? For what purpose? His visit here had supplied him with more questions than answers. 

It looked like his next stop would be Scotland. And the place his father grew up. 

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Crane knew his family's ancient history as a border clan well. His father's birthplace was just over the modern Scottish-English border and he took a train from King's Cross to Berwick-upon-Tweed and then a bus to Coldstream. He looked as out of place in this small village as he did the day he woke up in Sleepy Hollow. Like in any small town, he knew he'd get the most information about what had happened here in the last couple hundred years from the locals at the pub. 

He told them he was researching his family history (which he was in a way) and most were friendly enough, pointing him in the right direction. Like many estates, the one that had belonged to the Crane family had not done well over the last few centuries. Not enough money. Too many people fleeing to the cities for better jobs. It was shuttered now, a shell of its former self. The gardens his mother had once loved to walk through with him where long gone. He would have so loved to have visited them again. 

Now that he was standing before this massive, decaying structure, he really had no idea what he was looking for or if there was anything here to find at all. Maybe he was searching for something – anything – so he'd have a sense of purpose again. 

Maybe he was searching for the thing that would give him a reason to go back home to Sleepy Hollow. And Abbie. He knew he was looking for an excuse and hoping he found one here because he was running out of places to go. 

Crane decided to start at the bottom and work his way up. He was so young the last time he was here but he remembered his brother leading him down a stairs to a dark, cold cellar of some sort. Johnny used to tease him about there being secrets and ghosts down here. Secrets he wasn't supposed to tell anyone. His older brother abandoned him down here once, locking him in until his mother found him, trembling in fear, his pants wet. That was the last time he followed his older brother anywhere. Soon he just hid in the stables with his books, avoiding them entirely. 

He was learning quickly that not all the words he had learned in America translated to the words in this country. Lighting an actual torch and not a flashlight, Crane started down the narrow steps and into the darkness. Fear was no longer a problem. What could be worse than an ax-wielding headless former best friend? He made his way through the twisting stone passages, checking out the walls that were now covered in cobwebs a lot of graffiti. Bored teenagers seemed to be fascinated with painting large penises on flat surfaces no matter what continent they were on. 

He found a room his brother had once told him contained the most ghosts. It was the room their father had warned them to always stay out of though he never explained why. Young Ichabod didn't need a reason. He was scared enough of his father to heed his warning. 

The heavy stone door was hard to open, taking him several attempts before it swung easily into the room. This place was colder than the passageway leading to it and he shivered as he entered. After the first door, there were several more iron gates to pass through before he was in a central room, round in shape, with only a few more halls leading off of it. There was a smell that was so familiar and one whiff of it was nearly enough to make him cry over something lost long ago. 

Crane studied the walls, bare of any graffiti. It didn't look like anyone else had been in here for ages and he wasn't sure what he was expecting. An easy answer written on the walls? Someone to tell him it would all be fine? He scoffed at that idea. He only had himself now. There would be no one telling him anything. 

“Ichabod?”

Then again...

He turned slowly, holding the flame out in front of him. It was his only weapon against whatever might be here with him, having no crossbow on his person. There was a shimmer of light not unlike the hologram of Jefferson in his Fenestella and an apparition began to take form. The scent in the air grew stronger – garden roses and lavender – and he blinked hard, trying to focus on the light before him. 

“Mother?” 

This couldn't be happening. Then again, he shouldn't be here, two and a half centuries out of his time. And after all he had seen... wasn't anything possible?

“My sweet boy. I've been waiting for you.”

The voice was his mother's but distant and no matter how hard he tried to focus on her, it was like watching sunlight on ocean waves. The brightness hurt his eyes and he had to look away. 

“I don't understand any of this,” Crane said. It was the truth. He didn't understand why he was picked for this role. Why he had lost everything. Why... why on so many thing. 

“What do you not understand, Ichabod? You were chosen because of who you are and because it's part of your bloodline. Because you would never give up on this fight. Yet, here you are, far away from the battle. Have you given up?” she asked. 

“Not exactly...”

“Then what is it? Why are you here?” the sweet voice asked. 

“I've lost everything. My entire family is gone. The life I knew. There is nothing left,” he said, feeling his heart grow heavy. He had no family and now he was talking to a voice. A voice that could very possibly just be in his head at this point. That's how far lost he was in self pity at any given moment. “I have nothing left.”

“Nothing?” 

“Abbie.”

“The other Witness?” 

“How would you know any of this? What is happening?” he asked, shielding his eyes and trying to look at the spot where the light was originating from. It was still hard to see anything but he could make out her form. So tiny. He didn't realize how tiny she was when he was a child but now he did. 

“I think you've seen enough to know anything is possible. Even this conversation, my dearest boy. You have to realize you are not alone. You were never going to be alone. That was determined by fate long before you came back here. There will always be two Witnesses. That was determined thousands of years ago. A man and a woman. Your battle isn't over. Go back to her,” she instructed. 

He thought he would wake up from this at any moment and he wanted the answers before this strange dream ended. But at the same time, the flames on his torch felt hot. This couldn't be a dream. A vision, maybe, but not a dream. 

“How? After everything that has happened? How could I return to her?” he asked. 

“Apologize. Your father was never able to do that. Surely you can?” she asked. He shrugged and stammered like a child. “And show her the proof that this isn't over. That you are bound together by God for all time.”

“By God? We are not married. We are merely partners. If that even,” he said, losing his stammer quickly. 

“Look and you'll find it. You're on the right path. Almost there. I'm so sorry I wasn't able to guide you longer in your life. Our fates were different but I loved you. Will always love you. Go. You have work to do,” she said. 

“Mother...” 

But she was fading out already. Like she was never there. Much like when he lost her as a child. There and then gone so quickly. The light was gone and all he was left with was the torch he was holding. 

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

He went through a few more iron gates until he got to the end of the passageway and into the family crypt. Crane didn't know it could be reached from here. He only knew of the entrance from outside, where he would have never met his mother's spirit. He turned in the narrow space, inspecting all the names, surprised to find his was there. His father did know about his death. 

Crane had no idea what he was looking for as he pointed the flame toward the floor and ceiling and back to his crypt. This had to be it. He pulled his marker off of his empty crypt and found a tile that seemed to have some sort of pictures carved on them. They weren't easy to move but it wasn't impossible, either.

The artistry wasn't wonderful but he could make out the symbolism. And ancient text and a drawing of a man and a woman. They were fairly decent representations of the Witnesses. The Captain and the Lieutenant. Crane and Mills. Ichabod and Abbie. There. Carved in stone for all time beneath his ancestral home. Was this like Grace Dixon's journal? A guide to the future? Proof of their roles?

One of the tiles showed the horsemen and Moloch and the things they had already faced. Below that were the things yet to come. None of it looked like fun. None of it was something he could face alone.  
Crane was going to have to go back to America. 

He was going to have to face Abbie.

 

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Crane certainly didn't plan on facing Abbie exactly like this. The first time she saw him in close to a year, he was in prison orange, feeling decidedly bare with his arms not covered by at least one layer of fabric (though she had seen more). He was also embarrassed for a multitude of other reasons. They somehow managed to avoid talking about “it” for as long as they could. Instead, he tried to get used to real life again and all their discussions revolved around her new career and the information on the next phase of the apocalypse he had uncovered. It took her a day to be convinced, thinking he used this as an excuse to come home. Maybe she was right. Not about the apocalypse but about using it. He needed to see her again. That much he knew for sure. 

Sooner or later, the thing that happened the night before he left was going to have to be discussed. He would wait to see if she brought it up. If she didn't, he'd have to. Crane knew she had been seeing someone in his absence and he knew it had been serious. Even though he had a few partners here and there, none of them could be considered serious. He did the decidedly modern thing and got tested for various infectious diseases, just in case one day, he and Abbie somehow...

It wasn't going to happen if they could never get over this thing between them now. Even more uncomfortable was the fact that they were now living together, young Joe Corbin having moved into his father's cabin. It was getting more and more difficult to avoid the issue. 

She came home late one night and he was sitting quietly on the couch waiting for her. This was it. It had to be done. 

“Hey, Crane,” she said, dropping her keys on the table. “It smells delicious in here. Anything left over?” 

“I saved a plate for you, Lieutenant, as I always do. But first, please sit down. I'd like to discuss something with you,” Crane said. Abbie did what he asked, kicking off her shoes before sitting beside him on the couch. 

“What's wrong? Something happening with the archives?” Abbie asked. Crane shook his head. 

“I have put off apologizing for too long,” Crane said, pivoting to face her, his hands clasped together on his lap. 

“You've apologized for disappearing for so long numerous times, Crane. We really just need to move on from that. Your absence was the push I needed to make me finally train with the FBI so it wasn't all bad,” Abbie said, reassuring him. 

“No, that's not what I meant. I am apologizing for what happened the night before I left. And for how I left you in the morning after that happened,” Crane said, stammering a little here and there, a blush burning across his cheeks. 

“What on earth are you talking about?” 

“What do you mean what on earth am I talking about? I woke up in your bed with only a scant amount of clothing on and you were there beside me. I panicked and left. That's what I'm talking about. I have been beating myself up inside for months for what I did and I was too scared to bring it up once I returned home,” Crane said. Abbie stared at him with wide eyes, shaking her head. 

“Yes, you woke up there but... that's it. You had so much to drink and you stumbled into my room, crying and carrying on about all the lives you had ruined and then you passed out,” Abbie said. 

“But I woke up with my leg thrown over yours and my hand on your... we were entwined, Lieutenant,” Crane said, the blush in his cheeks growing ever more red. 

“You are very comfortable to snuggle with, Crane. I'll give you that. But let me tell you, if we had slept together... and I mean had sex... and you left me with nothing but a note in the morning and didn't call for nine months, your skinny ass wouldn't be sitting on my couch right now. Damn. How drunk were you?” Abbie asked. 

“Apparently very.”

“Because trust me, if we do ever have sex, you're going to remember every single second of it. Every. Single. Second,” Abbie said, reaching out and taking one of his hands in hers. 

“So, to recap, I avoided you for a very long time over something that never happened?” Crane said, swallowing hard as he tried to process this new information. 

“That does appear to be the case. Look, I did get my FBI training in and you did get to go home and find those artifacts. It wasn't a complete loss,” Abbie said. 

“I also... there were other...”

“I don't need to know, Crane. Remember the fences and hedges? There are just some things that happened that neither of us need to share, okay?” Abbie said and Crane nodded. He sat back comfortably again and Abbie grabbed the remote, settling on some cooking show. He offered to warm up her dinner but she said not yet. She just wanted to sit an enjoy some quiet time... just the two of them. They sat through a few episodes before he finally spoke up. 

“When you say I'll remember every single second...” 

“I mean it.”

“God's wounds,” he muttered under his breath, his imagination running wild. 

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

As he had once gone to her bed long ago, this time she came to his. There was no trauma preceding this moment. No one had too much to drink. No one killed anyone or anything that day. 

Crane cooked her dinner and they ate while sitting on the couch and watching a movie. It wasn't long after she finished her meal before she yawned and excused herself to go to bed. The day was uneventful but it was still tiring. He bid her goodnight and then spent time alone in the kitchen, cleaning up the dishes. 

He changed into his nightshirt and got into his bed, staring the ceiling over his head. He could hear her get up and move across her room upstairs. She had been restless lately and would often get up through the night. Crane had grown accustomed to the sound of her pacing around her room. What he was not accustomed to was hearing her footsteps as she came down the stairs. Or hearing her ask if she could join him in his bed. 

He had not expected this moment to happen like this. He assumed they would have survived something horrible and that would finally push them together. Instead, it was just... because. 

Crane moved over and let her in, helping her as she snuggled under his blanket. 

“Is something wrong, Lieutenant?” he asked after a long moment of silence between the two of them. 

“No. Nothing, really. Maybe for the first time in a very long time, everything is right,” she said. She curled around him, her hand resting on his chest, and surely she had to be able to feel his heart beating. Yes, there had been a few others after Katrina, but nothing like this. Those had been a mere escape. This... this was him finding himself. With them, he wanted to forget. With Abbie, he wanted to remember every moment. 

She kissed him. It was quick and playful and he was unsure if she wanted more. As soon as he felt her against his lips, he knew he wanted more. He propped himself up on an elbow, staring down at her face. A moment of hesitation or doubt passed through her eyes and he backed away. 

“Only what you want,” he said and she nodded. 

“I want this. I want you. But tomorrow...”

“Tomorrow, we'll still be partners and friends. We'll just wake up together. That is, if we ever fall asleep,” he said, dropping the pitch of his voice even further. 

She closed her eyes, smiled and shook her head. “I love you,” she said without looking at him and he said it back to her as quickly as he could, kissing her right after. Her mouth opened under his and he wasn't sure he was going to survive this night but he was sure going to try. 

Crane tossed aside the blankets and explored her body, his fingertips moving across her soft curves. She had worn a simple T-shirt to bed and it was tugged up and off over her head easily enough. The scrap of fabric that made up her panties was slipped down her thighs and tossed off the bed. His eyes drank her in. She was perfect. He was drowning in her perfection. 

Abbie motioned for him to take off his nightshirt and he pulled it up over his head by the neckline, throwing it quickly out of the way. It was the only thing he had worn to bed and now they were both naked, both exploring the other. He kissed her mouth and her throat, then his tongue darted from one breast to the other, feeling her nipples harden from his touch. He could feel her hands run down his back and across his arms, his muscles quivering from her attention. 

Propped besides her, he pulled her leg over his hip, his fingers delving into her and working gently against her clit. She grew so wet and so hot and later... later he was going to spend forever tasting her. But for now he had to feel her around him. 

He moved so he could stroke the head of his cock against her, moving it to her clit and back just close enough to almost be in her but not quite. It was torture, waiting, but he wanted to see her come first. Wanted to push into her as she did. 

She reached between her legs, taking hold of him and using him. He seriously didn't mind being used. Not at all. Not by her. 

She threw her head back in pleasure, coming already, and he moved so he was over her, between those silky thighs, and as she came, he entered her. Her eyes met his as he pushed in all the way, feeling her still quake around his cock. He had wanted to see this look on her face for so long and it was everything he had imagined. 

Her legs wrapped high around his waist and he continued to thrust in and out of her. He kissed her once more before he came and then kissed her over and over again after. 

“Abbie,” he said over and over between kisses. 

“So much better than the first time,” she said when he was at her side again, cuddling with her, their fingers entwined. 

“The... what?”

“I'm kidding, Crane. How did you ever think... how? That you could forget this?” she asked. 

“I left for other reasons, too. I needed to suffer for what I had done. I also couldn't bear the thought of something ever happening to you. I thought if I were gone, nothing ever would. But I learned that we must be together for it is written that way. We will never be apart again,” he said, firmly believing that was so. He wouldn't allow anything to ever happen to her. If it did, he would follow her in death. Follow her anywhere. He was unsure what the final plan was for them but he knew they'd be together. 

“We might be apart for a while. When you make me breakfast in the morning,” Abbie said, taking his hand and placing a gentle kiss on it. 

“It will be the quickest breakfast ever made so I can get back to you. I might not even toast the bread,” he said. 

“I'm not going anywhere, Crane. I promise,” Abbie said. 

“Neither am I. Never again. This I also promise,” he said, wrapping his arms around her even tighter. “Never.”

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

_My Dearest Lieutenant,_

_You are correct. No one could forget this. No one could have all of this and still leave. I promise you I will never leave your side again._

_Except to make you a cappuccino._

_Eternally Yours,_

_Ichabod Crane_

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

The End


End file.
